The Internal Struggle
by Clez
Summary: I wrote this after seeing Vox Sola. It's a little... dull, but I'll let you guys be the judge of that. Trip has some issues, and needs to sort them out. Review please! Thanks :


THE INTERNAL STRUGGLE  
  
He had almost lost himself in one of the books Hoshi had leant to him, lost in the world of new people, strange names and new adventures, when his door chime sounded. He looked up from the pages, which were a little dog-eared, and frowned.  
  
He knew perfectly well that after the recent incident with the alien life form that had joined him into its body, along with four others, he had grown a little detached… quiet. It was probably a little disorientating for the crew, and his friends, to see him that way, after months of seeing his other personality, the better half.  
  
He sighed, looking once again to the pages filled with good old printed words, and placed it down on his soft bed, where he had been sat all evening, and called out, "Come in."  
  
He watched as the door slid open, and was met with the smiling face of Malcolm Reed.  
  
When Malcolm failed to say anything… at all, he decided it was up to him to get it started along whatever track Malcolm had in mind.  
  
"Hey, Malcolm," he almost mumbled, sitting up a little straighter against his head board.  
  
Malcolm nodded, and replied, "Hello, Commander."  
  
Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III cocked his head ever so slightly, ran a hand through his tousled hair, and said, "Did ya' come for anything in particular, Malcolm, or where ya' just intending to make my quarters look untidy?"  
  
Malcolm seemed to brighten at the possibility that what Trip had just said might be a joke of some form. "I was just wondering whether you wanted to join me and Travis… we're going to watch a film."  
  
It was then that Trip noticed the figure hanging back in the corridor, whilst Malcolm hovered in the doorway, preventing the door itself from closing. Travis Mayweather seemed to have found a particular point on the bulkhead that captivated his interest, and was keeping his chocolate brown eyes fixed on that point.  
  
Trip allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, but no thanks, Malcolm."  
  
"But-"  
  
"I said no thanks, Malcolm." Trip eased himself onto the edge of the mattress, and clasped his hands loosely on his knees. "I appreciate the offer… but I'm just not up for a movie right now." Then, just to perhaps make Malcolm happy, he added, "Maybe next time."  
  
Malcolm smiled in a friendly manner, and nodded again, looking over his shoulder at Travis. "Okay, Trip. See you later."  
  
With that, Malcolm left, letting the door close behind him.  
  
Trip was once again, alone.  
  
He sighed heavily, and glanced around his relatively small quarters. There was a certain order to the room, yet his mother would have sternly insisted he clear up the chaotic disarray instantly.  
  
He laughed quietly… so quietly perhaps only Hoshi would have heard it if he were in the presence of his friends.  
  
His friends.  
  
They were his friends.  
  
He had almost forgotten that.  
  
With a shake of his head, he stood from his tidy bed, leaving the borrowed book on the covers, and retrieved his boots, hurriedly putting them on his feet, tying the shoelaces in such a rushed manner that would have made his grandmother scream. She was always worrying that he would fall over his own laces if he didn't tie them properly. It had, of course, never happened.  
  
The thought made him smile as he donned his jacket, and headed out of the door.  
  
However, when he was walking down the corridors on his way to his decided destination, he lost the smile. It faded back into him somewhere, and he wandered where it had come from in the first place. Why was he always smiling the way he did? Was it some happy memory he held onto? What was it?  
  
He was determined to find out.  
  
He stopped by the door, and sighed. Was this really doing the right thing?  
  
He pressed the door chime button.  
  
He heard what could only have been described as a mumble of acknowledgement from inside, and took that as a sign to enter. He pressed the door-open button, and poked his head inside.  
  
What he saw made him seriously consider returning to his own quarters, or taking up Malcolm and Travis' offer on that movie.  
  
Captain Jonathan Archer was sitting, just as Trip had been, slumped against the backboard of his bed, a glum expression plastered across his usually optimistic face. The kind eyes were dull… they had lost that explorative sparkle. His hair was flat, lifeless, as if Jon had neglected to visit a shower that day, as was the Captain's normal habit.  
  
"Jon?" Trip ventured, stepping in slightly.  
  
He saw a curled up Porthos on Jon's lap, only when the beagle popped its head up from its slumbering position though.  
  
Jon looked to him with those dull eyes, and attempted a smile.  
  
He failed miserably.  
  
Trip moved in fully, and looked down at Jon. "You okay?"  
  
Jon tilted his head to one side, and looked down into the liquid- brown eyes of the young dog. "I'm fine."  
  
Trip's shoulders slumped at that comment. Jon was a terrible liar. Always had been. And he knew Jon felt terrible, because he felt the same way.  
  
He pulled out the chair from Jon's desk, turned it to face the Captain, and seated himself on it, after removing his jacket, tossing it onto the floor.  
  
After having sat down, Trip found himself at a loss for words. His blue eyes roamed the contents of Jon's tidy desk, and located a ball… one similar in size to what tennis players used back on Earth. He picked it up, feeling the texture of it with his fingers, measuring its weight.  
  
He looked back at Jon, whose eyes had not moved from Porthos. His fingers were running systematically through the dog's fur over and over again.  
  
"Jon…" Trip began, capturing his friend's attention.  
  
Jon looked up from the dog, and closed his eyes, allowing himself a faint smile. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me, wasn't it?"  
  
"It's no problem, Jon." Trip smiled as much as he could force himself to, and glanced down at the ball.  
  
Porthos turned his head to Trip, and let his tongue loll out. He was staring fixatedly at the ball in Trip's hand, and there was a playful look in his brown eyes.  
  
Jon seemed to notice his pet's fixation, and laughed a little. "I think he wants you to throw the ball for him."  
  
Trip laughed too, tossing the ball up and down in the air for a while, checking the point of Porthos' attention.  
  
It was most definitely the ball.  
  
"Okay then," Trip muttered, and tossed the ball towards the dog positioned on Jon's lap, throwing it underarm so that if the dog missed, it wouldn't hurt Jon in any way. Trip knew how sore Jon must be right now.  
  
Before Porthos could even do so much as open his mouth, Jon leaned over, and snatched the ball out of the air, holding it up and out of the dog's reach.  
  
Porthos let out a little pine.  
  
Trip laughed. "That was underhanded."  
  
"I know," Jon said. "I'm such a menace to canine society."  
  
Trip couldn't hold back the laugh that wacky comment deserved. It felt good to laugh, let out the good sensations of security locked up inside… feelings Trip had been afraid to let escape.  
  
Jon tossed the ball back in his direction. Trip caught it with ease in his right hand, the other resting casually on his leg.  
  
It appeared they were starting a game of sorts, and Porthos recognised this fact. He jumped playfully off of Jon's lap, gently, as if he knew he must not be rough with his master, and let out a gleeful shrill bark.  
  
"Seems Porthos wants to play our little game too, Cap'," Trip told Jon, who nodded in agreement, and sat up more straight on his bed, crossing his legs before him.  
  
Trip stood from the chair, turning it round, and sitting on it backwards, the rest before him, to rest his arms on if he so wished. He tormented the dog with the small ball for a moment before launching it high over the animal's head. Porthos barked at it in mid-flight, as if he were beckoning it to come down to him.  
  
Jon reached up and caught the ball, smiling at Trip. "That's a little high… don't you think? We should give the little fella a chance here."  
  
Trip sighed, considering the point. "We should. But we're not gonna. We don't want him beatin' us at our own game here, Jon."  
  
Jon laughed, louder than before. It appeared his mood was improving.  
  
"Here that, boy? Seems like you're gonna have to try for the ball," Jon told Porthos, who just barked at him, seemingly eager for the game to continue.  
  
The ball was passed back and forth over and over again, each throw becoming a little more challenging… higher, lower, wide, more forceful. It made the two men try for each catch… fight to keep the prize out of reach of the dog that so desperately yearned for the ball.  
  
"Isn't this a little like that game kids used to play back on Earth… in groups of three? They would keep the ball away from the player in the middle," Jon said, catching a ball that flew towards him on his right side.  
  
Trip let his arm drop, watching Jon intently as he prepped to launch the ball once again. "Whadda ya' mean 'Piggy In The Middle'?"  
  
"That's it. I wouldn't exactly call Porthos a pig though… even though he does enjoy chowing down on my cheddar when he thinks I'm not looking," Jon said with a laugh.  
  
Trip laughed heartily. It seemed the laughs were coming more frequently, and more heartfelt now… like they stood for something, as if the things they were caused by were important.  
  
And it was as Trip caught the next throw that he realised it was important… all of this.  
  
Not the ball necessarily, or teasing Porthos, but the scenario… the atmosphere… the people.  
  
It felt right.  
  
Trip threw the next ball a little gentler, letting Jon know a conversation was about to be launched, one that didn't revolve around cheese or dogs, or even water polo.  
  
"Cap'n… that creature that came aboard Enterprise a couple o' weeks ago," Trip began, keeping his voice level, although trying his best not to kill the easy feel that had settled on the room some time ago.  
  
Jon nodded, looking down at the ball he held in his hands, turning it this way and that, seemingly studying its every feature and flaw.  
  
"I don't think it wanted to do us any harm," he continued, stretching a hand over the back of the chair before him, and scratching the young animal on the top of his head. Porthos panted happily, and let out a pleased groan of content.  
  
Jon looked back up at Trip, and there was a certain hint of that sparkle in his kind eyes.  
  
Trip stared at him, searched his face for hints of what was about to be said… the comeback that could mean the difference between the old Jon Archer, and an entirely new one, one who was wary and distrustful around new species and planets, one who was quiet at dinner, one who spent evenings alone… a little like his Commander.  
  
Trip realised that he had been too distant from his friends… from Jon. He knew that he was fine, the alien had let them go, and they had all made a full recovery, returned to perfect health. He had turned down on activities he normally would have jumped at with a smile, like cards with the guys, dinner with Hoshi and Malcolm… and movies.  
  
Jon smiled then, giving Trip a look that said it all. He didn't need to speak.  
  
The old Jonathan Archer was back.  
  
And with him, came Charles Tucker… the old Charles Tucker… Trip.  
  
He was happy… he was content… he was safe.  
  
Trip was back. 


End file.
